No compositions by Vivaldi

I was born in the twilight of centuries,
when the sun, tired from its journey,
sinks into the golden horizon
and the moon emerges shy and silvery.

O nature, wise and ancient,
you owe me the sighs of the trees,
and the murmur of the dancing brook.
The scents of wild flowers.

You owe me the whisper of the wind
that caresses the leaves and hair.
And the embrace of the ground, firm and welcoming,
that supports my uncertain steps.

You owe me the birdsong,
echoing valleys and mountains
and the silence of the starry night
when the universe reveals itself in secrets.

Nature owes me the freshness of the rain
that washes away sadness and worries.
And the heat of the sun, which ignites hope,
even on the darkest days.

Nature owes me the spectacle of the seasons.
The dance of the leaves in autumn,
the renewal of life in spring
and the stillness of winter or summer.

But, above all, nature owes me
the opportunity to exist in this moment.
Of being part of this vast and mysterious cosmos,
and to contemplate its beauty and mystery.

So, I accept what nature gives me,
that imprecise and tenuous gift that is life.
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